


All I Want

by cosmisce



Series: All I Want [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Background Shimizu Kiyoko/Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Chronic Pain, College, Future Fic, Gen, Growing Up, M/M, Major Character Injury, Male Friendship, Post-Canon, Post-Graduation, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26657380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmisce/pseuds/cosmisce
Summary: In which Nishinoya enrolls in college after sustaining a life-changing injury in his third year of high school, and Yaku returns from Russia. (Semi) Future AU.
Relationships: Nishinoya Yuu/Yaku Morisuke
Series: All I Want [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966102
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	All I Want

**Author's Note:**

> “It is so much simpler to bury reality than to dispose of dreams.”
> 
> DON DELILO, _AMERICANA_

It’s not too far from college to his apartment. It is half a mile, a thousand steps; steps that get more tiresome as the day runs itself into the night. Nishinoya presses his phone to his ear.

“Ryuu, hey…” he says. “I got some ramen for dinner, is that good?” He chuckles at his friend’s complaints. “I’m too beat to get some omurice for you.” He jostles the containers, wincing at the loud sloshing of the soup. “Listen, I got to go. Don’t watch _Hunter x Hunter_ without me, I swear…” Hanging up, Nishinoya exhales and crosses at the intersection.

It has been four years since his high school graduation. This means four years since he and Ryuu had started renting an apartment in the city, and four years since he has started college. His time there passes without excitement; he spends most of it at home, sometimes harassing Asahi at his internship before turning to the more pressing commitments such as classes and his stint as a barista at the nearest coffeeshop. He had only chosen to concentrate in Literature last year, after pressure from his advisor to commit to a degree.

Nishinoya still isn’t sure about the decision, but his head is too full of Buddhist poems for him to linger on the thought for more than a couple seconds.

Nishinoya feels his phone vibrate against his leg. Turning on the screen, he expects to see Ryuu calling him; but it’s not. Instead, it’s a text message.

Nishinoya pushes open the door, glancing around to catch any evidence of Ryuu. His shoes are scattered in the foyer—kicked off, probably—and Nishinoya can hear the hum of the television from here. He removes his shoes, placing his keys on the kitchen counter as he pushes his head into the living room.

“Hey, Ryuu,” Nishinoya says. “Your appointment finish early?” Ryuu turns from where he’s watching television on the couch, flashing him a grin.

“Yeah. My client had to get her daughter from school, so.” Ryuu’s eyes home in on the plastic bag in Nishinoya’s hands. “Is that the food?”

“Yup.” Nishinoya perches himself on the bar stool as soon as he places it on the table, wincing as he rubs at his right leg. Ryuu digs in immediately, unearthing boxes and containers of soup as he passes a pair of utensils to him.

“Thanks,” Nishinoya says, as he opens up the container of soup and pours some of it into the dry noodles. Ryuu sits on the bar stool next to his, imitating him.

“How were your classes?”

Nishinoya shrugs. “Good.” He amends, “Boring.” He stirs around the noodles for a while, staring into the clouded, golden liquid. “Morisuke texted me.”

Ryuu shoots him a glance. “Yaku? Why?”

“He’s returning from Russia for a month, or so. Says he’s visiting his parents,” Nishinoya forces a knot of ramen through his lips before he says, keeping his voice steady, “He asked if we can meet up.”

As predicted, Ryuu turns his full attention to him. He drops his soup spoon and is silent for a moment before he asks, “And?”

Nishinoya meets his eyes. “And I said yes. We’re getting a beer on Saturday.” He fidgets under his friend’s eyes, steeling himself.

“Noya...” Ryuu begins. He bites his lip. “Are you sure about this? I mean, you were obsessed with this guy for two years. Everything was ‘Morisuke’ this, and ‘Morisuke’ that, and ‘Morisuke would have gotten that ball’ and—”

“Yeah, I _know,”_ Nishinoya says, flushing at the memory. He stabs through a slice of pork with his chopsticks. Memories of training camps at Nerima float through his mind, featuring missed balls and slaps on the shoulder that made his face sting and the night he had passed at the Yaku residence, when a storm had prevented him from returning to the Karasuno dorm.

(He remembered staying up to the sound of Morisuke’s breathing, wondering why this felt so different from his nights at Ryuu’s. He had gotten three hours of sleep that night.)

“You’re not still crushing on him, right?” Ryuu asks. There’s a suspicious edge to his voice.

“It wasn’t a crush.”

Ryuu scoffs. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t a crush. But it was definitely a thing.”

Noya tightens his lips, unable to refute his friend’s words. He heaps more spoonfuls of soup into his mouth, ignoring that his tongue has turned numb from the heat.

Ryuu sighs and slouches in his seat. His expression is unreadable for a moment before it brightens into its usual semblance of support. “Ah, sorry for getting all up in arms about it. I’m happy for you. You guys should catch up.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Ryuu,” Nishinoya says. He pushes himself off the bar stool. “I need to pee. Set up the television?” He smiles as Ryuu nods and disappears from the kitchen.

Opening the door to the bathroom, Nishinoya snatches the bottle of pills from the counter and pours a couple into his palms. His leg had started spasming during dinner. He tosses them into his mouth, using water as a chaser before leaning his weight on the bathroom shelf and sighing.

He closes his eyes and waits for the pain to pass.

“Noya, you almost done?” Ryuu calls. Noya pries open his eyes. He puts some weight on his leg, turning to the mirror.

He looks tired. Four years ago, Nishinoya wouldn’t recognize this expression on himself: the dead eyes, sharp lips and distinct slump of his shoulders. But these days, it’s one he wears all the time.

“Coming,” Nishinoya says, and he turns from himself and out of the room.

* * *

Nishinoya is a half-hour early on Saturday. He is almost through his first bottle of beer when Morisuke surprises him.

“Yuu!” Nishinoya turns to see Morisuke maneuvering through the throng of people. He raises a hand.

“Morisuke, hey!” he says, before he gets a closer glimpse at the man before him. “What’s going—uh.” He stutters as Morisuke slips onto the stool next to his, removing his trench coat.

Morisuke’s hair has been gelled up to reveal his forehead. His body is toned—probably from his practices in Russia, Nishinoya reasons—and he’s wearing a half-open dress shirt and striped pants. He looks good, Nishinoya breathes.

He feels underdressed in his red t-shirt and shorts.

“It’s been a while,” Morisuke says, missing Nishinoya’s stammer. He catches the attention of the bartender, orders a beer, and returns his attention to him. “You look...about the same.” Nishinoya smiles at this; Morisuke’s candor was what Nishinoya had first appreciated about him, right after his mastery at receives.

“Yeah, I guess. Probably less fit, though,” Nishinoya avoids Morisuke’s eyes for a moment, studying the bar’s abstract paintings. “But I’ve heard a lot about what you’re doing in Russia from Ryuu. He and Tora still keep in touch.”

Morisuke smiles. “I’m sure he’s told you all about my struggle to learn Russian in the first couple years, then.”

“Yeah. But at least it paid off, right?” Nishinoya asks. “I mean, now you’re a hotshot libero in their top league. That’s gotta be cool.” The words don’t land as he wants them to. Morisuke rubs a hand across his face and smiles, as if he’s heard the same sort of praise too many times before.

“I’m enjoying myself,” Morisuke says, but doesn’t elaborate. He turns to Nishinoya, his eyes suddenly more intense. “But enough about me. What’s going on with you?” Nishinoya’s stomach twists.

“Nothing much, really,” Nishinoya says. “My life is pretty boring.” He wants Morisuke to leave it there, but he doesn’t.

“Come on, it’s been four years, hasn’t it?” Morisuke presses. “Tora said that you’re studying Literature. And you’re in your last year of college, right?”

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says, and considers falling silent before he feels Morisuke’s curious eyes on him. He exhales in defeat, finishing his beer. “It’s a life. My classes aren’t too hard, and my job at the cafe covers the cost.” He doesn’t mention that despite his classes being only moderate in rigor, he is still failing all of them.

“The thought of you reading Buddhist literature unsettles me, Yuu,” Morisuke says. Nishinoya laughs.

“You’re not alone. Ryuu caught me annotating some century-old poems one day and flipped. Called Suga and shit.”

Nishinoya and Morisuke converse for a couple hours, reminiscing about high school and their friends while catching up on the four years since they’d last seen each other. Both are still close to their teammates: Nishinoya and Ryuu visit Miyagi quite often to see Daichi and Suga, and Morisuke uses vacations to return to Nerima for regular team reunions. Nishinoya glances at his watch during a lull in conversation.

“Holy shit, it’s nearly one,” he says. He’s reminded of the essay he needs to write by Monday, which he has yet to choose a thesis for. “I need to go. Sorry, Morisuke.”

“No worries.” Morisuke stands up, putting on his trench coat. He’s buttoning it up as he says, as if in after thought: “We’ll do this again, right?” The words are not a question as much as a confirmation.

Nishinoya feels his chest tighten. He’s suddenly grateful that Morisuke isn’t looking at him; he doesn’t see the blush that spreads across his face.

“Yeah!” Nishinoya says, louder than he means to, before his voice drops to a mumble.

“Yeah. I would enjoy that.”

They part at the nearest intersection. Nishinoya pushes open the front door of his apartment building and punches the elevator button.

Riding up, he can’t tell if the strange feeling in his stomach is excitement or nausea.

* * *

Four days pass.

When Nishinoya steps into the apartment after an afternoon of classes, he notices at once the white flats resting on the shoe shelf.

“I’m home,” Nishinoya says. He turns into the kitchen to see Ryuu, reading, on the bar stool.

“Hey, Noya,” Ryuu says. He looks up and smiles. “Kiyoko’s here. She’s staying for dinner if that’s cool.” Nishinoya nods, heading past him to put his feet up on the couch.

“That’s fine. I’m meeting Morisuke tonight, so the apartment is all yours.” Nishinoya grins to himself when he hears Ryuu trail him into the room.

“You’re meeting him again, huh.” Nishinoya has closed his eyes, but opens them to see his friend inches from his face, grinning at him. “So. What’s your agenda here, exactly?” He rolls his eyes, putting his face in his hands.

“There’s no agenda, Ryuu, I promise,” he says. He parts his fingers, staring at Ryuu through them. “All I want is _one kiss_ to put my high school fantasies to rest. That’s it.” Ryuu laughs, but then falls silent.

Neither of them speak for a while. Nishinoya pets his tiny tuft of hair, pulling it between his eyes. He relents at last, groaning.

“What is it, Ryuu?” Nishinoya asks. Ryuu is seated next to him, lost in thought. He looks up at Nishinoya’s words, his expression inscrutable for a moment before he laughs.

“Oh, nothing,” Ryuu says. He looks at his feet and purses his lips. “Well...actually...” Nishinoya wants to press him some more, but for some reason he finds it hard to meet his friend’s eyes.

“You don’t need to say it if you don’t want to,” he says. He uses his foot to nudge Ryuu in the face.

“No, it’s fine,” Ryuu assures him. “Just...you’re sure you have a crush on him, right?” The question catches Nishinoya off-guard. He blinks and sits up.

“Uh, yeah,” Nishinoya says, sounding the words out. “Weren’t you the one who said so?” Ryuu looks at the floor instead of him. His fingers are fisted in the shoulder fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah, I guess,” Ryuu says, voice tight. “But this...” Both of them startle when the toilet flushes. “...this seems different.” Nishinoya is about to ask Ryuu what he means when Kiyoko enters the room.

“Hey, Nishinoya,” she says. She plants a subtle kiss on the top of Ryuu’s head before she moves to sit next to him. “What’s up?”

Nishinoya grimaces as he bends his legs, affording Kiyoko enough space to slip under Ryuu’s arm. It’s a tight fit, but one they’re used to.

“Nothing much,” he says. It comes out curter than he means it to. It’s not for an absence of familiarity: he had swooned at her feet for three years, after all, and she’s been dating Ryuu for three more. She has been a part of his life for a while.

But Ryuu and Kiyoko are engaged and still not living together, and Nishinoya can’t help but feel somewhat responsible.

“Okay, I’m gonna head out early,” Nishinoya says, standing up. His right leg trembles under the sudden pressure placed on it. He curses, holding onto the arm of the couch as he steadies himself.

Ryuu glances at him, worry coloring his eyes for a second. He says nothing.

Nishinoya takes a deep breath. He briefly considers hailing a cab to the restaurant. “See you guys later.” He ambles into the foyer, attempting to smoothen out his gait as he does so, and is out the door before either Ryuu or Kiyoko can catch him.

Nishinoya digs the heel of his hand into the side of his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he heads to the restaurant. Forcing a smile onto his face, he heads into the restaurant.

Nishinoya gets a table, not finding Morisuke among the seated customers. He settles himself in, pushing up his hair absent-mindedly.

As soon as he opens a menu, he glances up to see Morisuke approaching him.

“Hey, Yuu!” Morisuke says, looking happy to see him.

Nishinoya grins. “Nice to see you again, Morisuke!” He waits for Morisuke to settle himself at their table, admiring the effortless curl of his hair and small shoulders that seem broader up close. “What’s up?”

Morisuke groans. “My entire body is on fire.” He places his forearm upright on the table, pushing up his sleeves to reveal a multicolored array of bruises extending from his wrists to near his shoulder. “I’ve been practicing with Tora’s team. A bunch of them are new, so I’ve been diving way more than I’d prefer.” Nishinoya sighs out his empathy, remembering when he’d done so for his underclassmen in his third year of high school. It had led to a concerning amount of bruises, so much so that Takeda had nearly vomited one time upon seeing him up close.

Glancing subtly at his spotless arms, he can’t help but feel alien from himself.

“Sounds rough,” Nishinoya says. The waitress comes and orders their food. Morisuke presses him about college some more, but Nishinoya eludes the questions and instead demands to hear more stories from the court.

Morisuke obliges him. Nishinoya hangs onto each detail, eyes drooping as the stories unfurl as nostalgic images in his mind.

“So, when the ace of the other team jumped, all of us...” Nishinoya is so absorbed in the story that he barely registers the clump of hair that falls across Morisuke’s eyes. Without much thought, he reaches across the table to brush it out of his face.

Morisuke doesn’t finish his sentence, falling silent when Nishinoya fists his fingers in the mess of soft, dense curls. He stares at him, eyes glossing. He stiffens.

But, to Nishinoya’s satisfaction, he doesn’t move away.

Nishinoya and Morisuke’s eyes meet, and Nishinoya realizes that Morisuke is waiting for him to speak. He wants to, he does; but for some reason, the air around him is too thick to talk through. And besides, there isn’t anything that he has to say.

“So, Morisuke...” Nishinoya begins, heart pounding in his ears. He sorts through his thoughts, finding none. He stills for a moment, and then lets out a tired, defeated laugh.

“Oh, fuck this.” He puts a knee on the table, preparing to climb across it and collapse the distance between them.

Before he can, the waitress materialises in front of them.

“Do you want me to clear your plates?” she asks in a pleasant voice. Nishinoya curses under his breath, retreating to his seat.

“Yes, please,” Morisuke says. “And if we could get the check, please, unless...” he looks at Nishinoya. “Want to get dessert from here?” Nishinoya shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak. “...Very well, then. Just the check, please. Thank you.” Morisuke hums an undeterminable tune as he turns on his phone, the blue light washing his face in the restaurant’s tender gloom.

Both of them are silent for a moment. Nishinoya clears his throat, not one for silence.

“Uh...”

“Thanks for catching that hair, Yuu,” Morisuke says, and looks him in the eyes. To Nishinoya’s surprise, there’s not a hint of unease in them; but there’s also no sign of flirtation or embarrassment. It’s as if the almost-kiss hadn’t happened...or, Nishinoya reasoned, it had meant nothing to him.

“No problem,” Nishinoya says, looking at his feet. They don’t mention the incident again.

After dinner, they get ice cream bars at the nearest convenience store, enjoying it as Nishinoya accompanies Morisuke home. They end up standing in front of the gates, devouring it before the ice cream can melt and mess up their hands.

“This was fun,” Morisuke says. “I always have fun with you.”

Nishinoya laughs, slapping his shoulder. “Me too, man.” Morisuke is quiet for a moment. He finishes his ice cream.

“When can I see you again?”

Nishinoya pretends to consider the question. “Whenever,” he decides. “Call me anytime.”

Morisuke smiles, opening the gates. “I’ll probably hold you to that.” They say their goodbyes, and Nishinoya watches as Morisuke disappears into his parent’s house.

Nishinoya calls a car to get home, even though the distance from Morisuke’s place to his is less than a mile. Putting his head in the palm of his hand, he watches the scenery change from suburban to metropolitan in a mere hundred feet.

Nishinoya has a ton of classes in the morning. He had ended up not writing that essay due on Monday, leading to a ten-point plummet of his Classics grade. He should either feel self-loathing or fatalistic, as he usually does after disregarding his college assignments, but tonight he doesn’t seem to mind.

The moon emerges from behind the trees. He smiles at the memory of Morisuke smiling at him mere minutes ago, the warm, affectionate gesture doing weird things to his stomach. For the first time in a while—for the first time in four years he realizes—he feels hopeful.

* * *

The Karasuno team is seated around the coffee table. Nishinoya and Ryuu had returned to Miyagi for a couple days, crashing at Saeko’s while they visit old friends.

Today only Shouyou and Kageyama are missing from the group; their absence is to be expected, of course, considering their training regimens. Daichi tops off their beer glasses, glancing up at Ryuu.

“So, have you and Kiyoko set a date for the wedding yet?” Daichi asks. “It’s been...shit, a couple months, huh?”

“Nope,” Ryuu says, popping an edamame bean into his mouth. “Don’t worry, once we do you’ll be the first to know.” He pauses. “After Noya, of course.” Ryuu glances at Nishinoya from the corner of his eye, grinning at him.

“Are your classes getting any easier, Nishinoya?” Suga asks.

“No, but it’s fine,” Nishinoya says. “I just want to graduate and leave school for good, to be honest.”

“Where are you working after?” Asahi asks. “I remember that both Daichi and Suga started looking for jobs at the start of their fourth year.”

Nishinoya purses his lips. “Not sure.” He stuffs some edamame beans through his lips and devotes his full attention to crunching on them.

“You should ask Takeda for advice,” Suga suggests. Nishinoya nods, pointing to his mouth to signify that he couldn’t respond. Suga stares at him for a moment, his countenance stern, before he sighs and turns to Tsukishima.

Uh oh. Nishinoya feels his stomach turn. He looks for the nearest exit.

“And you. Frogs. Tell us _everything,”_ Suga says, putting an arm around Tsukishima. He rolls his eyes, adjusting the glasses on his face.

“Ah, it’s fun,” Tsukishima says. “Kyoutani is surprisingly tolerable...” Balcony. Four seconds. Nishinoya drums his fingers on the table.

“Have you seen Hinata or Kageyama lately?” Chikara asks. Nishinoya’s leg starts to throb. He inhales sharply, forcing his hands to stay at his sides.

“Yeah, actually. Way too often.” Nishinoya glances at Tsukishima, unable to help himself. He studies the bruises on his arms and the toned, developed muscles in his shoulders. Half of his fingers are in bandages. He averts his gaze, focusing on the balcony door again. This was a bad idea.

“So, what game are you playing next?”...”Oh, we’re playing against the Sunhawks on Sunday, and then...” ... “So you’re getting better at receives, huh? At long last...” ... “It’s nice, I guess, being on a team...”

At this point, Nishinoya’s leg is on fire. He groans, rubbing a hand over his face. Ryuu glances at him.

“Hey, you alright, dude?” Ryuu asks. His tone is nonchalant, but there’s an edge to it that Nishinoya doesn’t miss.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Nishinoya says, though his voice comes out breathy. “My leg is killing me, though.” Their conversation is conducted softly enough for the others to miss it. Nishinoya is grateful for this.

Nishinoya pushes himself up, careful not to put any weight on his leg as he hops to the balcony. Sliding open the door, he hesitantly places his leg on the ground again as he hobbles for a couple steps to lean against the railing.

It’s cool out here. He briefly considers telling Ryuu that he doesn’t feel too great and wants to leave, but expels it from his mind just as soon as he conceives of it. It wouldn’t be fair to him; it would become one of the number of unfair situations Nishinoya has put him through over the years, and Ryuu would be nice enough to let him do it, too.

In the end, Nishinoya just can’t say the words.

The conversation continues without him. He ends up situating himself on a balcony chair, massaging his leg as he stares into the starry night.

As he does on most nights when he visits old friends, he waits for the pain to recede to a tolerable level. It always does, eventually, and he can return to the group and smile.

But today the pain has sunken his teeth into him deeper than it has for a while, and Nishinoya resigns himself to a couple more hours of solitude.

* * *

Nishinoya should’ve seen this coming. When his advisor tells him, though, he is stunned all the same.

“I honestly don’t know what to tell you, Nishinoya-kun,” Sato says. They are sitting in his office, where Sato had called Nishinoya in for an emergency meeting. “If you’re going to fail all your essays and exams, you at least need to do your assignments.”

Nishinoya’s heart is pounding. He is sitting straight in his chair, looking at the ground.

“I...” Nishinoya starts. His voice catches. “I don’t know what to do.” Sato doesn’t move from where he sits, eyeing him as if he could be a pillar just as much as a human.

“If you pass your final exams, you can still get your degree,” Sato says. “Your GPA is going to be abysmal, of course, but. You’ll get your degree.”

Nishinoya stiffens. “And what if...what if I can’t do that?” Sato’s expression contorts in confusion.

“You need to,” he says. “I don’t care if you can. You will.” Nishinoya nods, as if he understands what he’s saying at all.

“Alright,” he says. He leaves the office soon after, pulling out his phone. The next couple seconds are automatic—him texting Morisuke, asking if he’s free for lunch—and he escapes from campus, shutting out the conversation from his mind.

* * *

Lunch is more uncomfortable than he expects it to be. It’s mostly Nishinoya’s fault.

“You’re quiet today, Yuu,” Morisuke says. He looks at him through worried eyes.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Nishinoya says.

“Is it about college?”

“No.”

Silence. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Nishinoya devours a slice of salmon sashimi.

They have barely exchanged any words in the past hour. Nishinoya can tell that Morisuke is regretting his decision to come here. In all honesty, Nishinoya is regretting his decision to reach out to him in the first place.

Stupid piece of shit. Nishinoya mechanically feeds himself. He is under water.

“Uh...” Nishinoya raises his head to look at Morisuke. He notes the discomfort in his eyes. He doesn’t comment on it.

"I’m gonna head out soon,” Nishinoya says.

“Alright,” Morisuke says. “Want me to join you?” It’s a formality.

“Nah,” Nishinoya says. “I’m good. Thanks, though.” He waits for Morisuke to get out of his chair and gain a couple steps on him before he stands up himself, gritting his teeth as he puts weights on his right leg. He trails after Morisuke, dragging it behind him.

They part at the nearest intersection. They agree to vague plans of meeting up again.

It’s a mile from here to his apartment. He begins the journey. Each step sends a stab of pain through his right leg. But he continues, because.

What else is he supposed to do.

The afternoon sun washes him in its light. It depresses him. His legs are trembling after ten minutes, in which he has conquered, to his disappointment, far less distance than he expects himself to.

Someone grumbles behind him, maneuvering past him to catch the light. He’s used to this.

The pain in his leg goes from bordering-on-intolerable to straight-up-hellish in a single instant. He’s used to this, too.

Limping to the nearest building, Nishinoya leans against it as he pulls out his phone.

Punching in Ryuu’s number, he holds it to his ear.

Ryuu responds on the last ring. “Hey, I’m in a session. What’s up?” Nishinoya inhales. He suddenly notices that his breaths are coming out too fast.

“Can you come get me?” Nishinoya asks. He tries to keep his voice light.

Ryuu is silent for a moment. “Uh...” Nishinoya closes his eyes. “Noya, I’m busy.”

“Yeah, I...I get it,” Nishinoya says. He feels his throat constrict. “I’m just, uh, near the bookstore—”

“That’s five minutes at most from our apartment.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nishinoya says. “I just. Uh. I’m so—” _Miserable._ “—tired. And I need you.” He feels his lip tremble. “I need you to come get me.”

Ryuu is silent again, and Nishinoya is gripped by a sudden fear that he would hang up on him. It is what he deserves, really. He should just call a cab.

But.

“Ryuu, _please,”_ Nishinoya says. Silence. He’s about to ask again, before he hears some shuffling across the line and then a protracted, weary sigh.

“Okay, Noya,” Ryuu says. “I’ll get you.” He sounds tired and a little subdued. “Just, hold tight, alright? Find somewhere to sit.” He ends the call before Nishinoya can respond.

Nishinoya doesn’t need to wait for more than ten minutes until he sees Ryuu’s car approaching from the distance. Ryuu pulls up at the curb, opening the door to the passenger seat.

“Hey, Noya,” Ryuu says. He doesn’t look angry, to Nishinoya’s relief. Instead, he looks at his face for a second before his eyes wander to his leg. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Nishinoya says. He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that Ryuu hasn’t needed to drive him from campus in a while. “I could, um. Use some help, though.” Ryuu gets out of the car, offering his shoulder to Nishinoya to help him hop to the passenger seat. Once he’s settled in, Nishinoya wraps his hands around his leg, folding over it. Ryuu watches him out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t start the ignition yet. Nishinoya can tell that he’s trying to get his attention, but Nishinoya looks at his feet stubbornly.

“We’ll talk about this when we get home,” Ryuu says. He looks straight ahead, and slams the car door shut harder than he needs to.

* * *

The days before his exams are a blur. Nishinoya isolates himself in his room to reread the texts from his semester, outlining plot points and recurrent motifs as he subsists on coffee and melon buns and the bento boxes Ryuu prepares for him.

The pain from his leg hasn’t quite subsided, but he doesn’t notice it much while pacing his room.

In the end, the exams are what he expects them to be: not too hard, if you’d been putting in effort during the semester.

The results come out on Saturday. Nishinoya tries to put them out of his mind, focusing on the easier and the painless in its place. 

* * *

Nishinoya is late to dinner at the Yaku residence.

Morisuke’s parents are out on a business trip for a couple days, so he has had the house to himself. They are seated at the dining table, methodically devouring the assortment of dishes expiring gradually in their fridge.

“So, Yuu,” Morisuke says, probing at his noodles. “Your leg.” Nishinoya pauses his furious eating for a second, mouth full. “What exactly happened there?”

Nishinoya is surprised to see the tight, almost fearful expression on his friend’s face, who was normally so shameless in his speech.

He swallows his bite. “Didn’t Kuroo tell you?”

“He just said you got your leg busted during a tournament.”

“Well, yeah. That’s what happened,” Nishinoya says, feeling himself bristle. Morisuke is still staring at him, the noodles in front of him forgotten.

He puts his head in his open palm, hair falling across his face. Fixing him in the tender, searching expression that Nishinoya couldn’t resist. “I’d prefer to hear it from you.” Nishinoya holds his gaze for a bit before studying his food. He sighs, closing his eyes as he runs a hand through his hair.

“It’s not that interesting.”

Morisuke laughs, sounding sincere. “It is to me.” Nishinoya glances at him again before letting out an extended exhale.

“It was during our game against Date Tech in the Fall Inter High Tournament of my third year,” Nishinoya says. “Playing against them is always exhausting for me, because they block so many of our balls. Anyway, it was the fifth set...” He grimaces. “...and I’d been diving for a while.”

“Everyone was aware of how important it was to get those spikes through in those last couple minutes. As soon as one team gets momentum in the fifth set, it’s over,” Nishinoya continues. “So, I passed Kageyama the ball, and immediately Shouyou jumped up. And I was a little too eager, I guess, because I couldn’t tell what shot he was gonna use and then when the ball started to fall on our side of the court, I...” He clutched at his knee, feeling it spasm under his hold. “...I dove _completely_ wrong. Ended up not even touching the ball, just completely ruining my leg. It was so gory, and you could see the bone and everyone was speaking to me at the same time, and...and we lost the game.”

Nishinoya looks into his noodles. “And I couldn’t play volleyball again.”

Nishinoya almost forgets that Morisuke is there before he finds himself the subject of his stunned, glassy stare. He laughs, rubbing at his head.

“But it all ended up just fine, I guess. Takeda helped me complete my college applications really fast, helping me study and all that, and the entire team was super great too.” Nishinoya patted Morisuke on the shoulder. “It’s fine, everything’s fine. I don’t really care about it anymore.” Their noodles are getting cold. Morisuke doesn’t speak, concentrating on his glass of beer.

“Why’re you curious?” Nishinoya prompts.

Morisuke looks up at him, before laughing. “Oh, yeah. Well...” Again, Morisuke seems to struggle to find the right words. “I’m leaving for Russia on Sunday.” Nishinoya’s eyes widen, but he says nothing. “I planned to get the old Nekoma and Karasuno team together from the year we went to Nationals and host a game. Not all of us are still into volleyball, but. I thought it would be fun.” Morisuke glances at Nishinoya, who motions for him to continue.

“I wanted to ask you about what happened, because, you know...” Morisuke says. “...you don’t need to come if you don’t want to.” Nishinoya tightens his grip on the chair, heart beginning to throb.

“Uh...” he begins. “Yeah. Thanks for asking, Morisuke.” His mind goes to Shouyou, Kageyama, and Tsukishima, their volleyball stars, and Ryuu and Daichi, who had also kept in optimal physical condition after high school. His stomach clenches. It goes to Suga and Asahi and Hisashi, and Chikara and Kazuhito and Yamaguchi, whose careers presumably left them a little rusty — but no. He feels worse.

It’s not even about the volleyball. It’s about being on the court with his friends.

“I’ll let you know,” Nishinoya says, sounding gruff and quiet. “But thanks for telling me, Morisuke. I mean it.”

* * *

On Saturday, Nishinoya can’t seem to get himself out of bed.

“You ready, Noya?” Ryuu asks, butting his head into his room. His face falls at seeing Nishinoya still swathed in his comforter, his hair flat against his forehead. “Come on. Are you _seriously_ not going to come?”

“Not feeling it,” Nishinoya mumbles into the bedsheet. “Besides, I already told Morisuke that I’m busy.” Ryuu doesn’t respond for a moment.

“Is your—”

“Oh my god, my leg is fine,” Nishinoya says, hurling off his comforter. “Ryuu, I love you, but please. Please stop.” Ryuu glares at him for a minute—it’s difficult when his best friend is as stubborn as he is—before relenting, turning into the hall.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Ryuu says, before pausing. “Love you too. Kiyoko and I are going to be out all day, so if you need someone to drive you somewhere, I trust that you’re capable enough to call an Uber.” Nishinoya mumbles his confirmation, turning on his bed so that his friend is out of sight.

“Go slaughter them for me.”

“Of course.”

“I expect to see bloody cat hair on you when you get home.”

“Gross, but alright.”

“Ryuu...” Nishinoya considers telling him that his assessment scores are coming out today. If he fails, he isn’t sure what he is going to do. He can’t put himself through another year of college—he simply isn’t capable of it.

If his world is ending today, he wants Ryuu to be there at least.

Nishinoya exhales, suddenly conscious that the more time he stalls the more he’s wasting their time.

“You’re my best friend,” Nishinoya says at last. He flushes, curling into himself as he hears footsteps approaching his bed. Ryuu turns him around, concern gleaming in his eyes.

“What’s going on, dude?” Ryuu asks.

“Nothing. What do you mean?”

Ryuu chortles, tousling Nishinoya’s hair. “You only get sentimental when you’re worried about stuff.” His hands feel comforting on Nishinoya’s head. Nishinoya finds himself leaning into his touch, his entire body easing.

“It’s seriously nothing,” Nishinoya says. “I’ll tell you when you get home. But you’re about to be late, and I’m...I’m holding you up.” Ryuu’s face tightens for a second before he stands up, bringing his hands onto his hips.

“Okay. Tonight,” Ryuu says. “But Noya?” Nishinoya meets his eyes, looking forward to a couple more minutes of reveling in his self-pity that are being gradually stolen from him by this conversation.

“Hm?”

“You’re never holding me up,” Ryuu says. “Never.” Nishinoya’s chest tightens, and he struggles to stop his vision from swimming. _Ryuu’s just being an idiot, he doesn’t know what he’s saying..._ but Nishinoya is touched by the words all the same.

Nishinoya hears his bedroom door close as Ryuu shuffles to the door. He’s left alone.

* * *

This was a terrible idea.

Nishinoya realizes it as soon as he enters the old Karasuno gym, where his old teammates and opponents are scattered among the court.

He greets a couple people and noogies a surprised and satisfied Ryuu before he settles on the bleachers, shoulders hunched as he watches the game.

The rotation is fluid; without Nishinoya, Suga, Chikara, Hisashi, and Kazuhito are getting more time on the court. Most of them are rusty—Asahi can’t jump nearly as high as he used to, and Suga’s sets are less precise—but all of them seem to be enjoying it. His chest tightens again.

 _What is this?_ Nishinoya wonders, before it hits him. _Ah. It’s wistfulness._

_I promised myself I’d never miss anything. I promised myself that there wouldn’t be any regrets._

It feels strange, being the only team member here who’s not playing. But he’s used to it.

He watches Morisuke thrust up the ball, a pang of guilt shooting through his spine. When he’d shot out of bed after Ryuu left, Nishinoya had thought that it would be the perfect time to confess his feelings to Morisuke and persuade him to remain in Japan.

But seeing him here, Nishinoya understands the situation better: the reason he’d been so eager to get close to Morisuke, and the reason their conversations tended to return to his stories on the court. It isn’t love.

Morisuke is free, unstoppable, and Nishinoya—

Shit. He can’t breathe.

Standing up, Nishinoya limps out of the gym. He paces around, his vision becoming blurry and bright. He barely hears someone calling out his name before a hand lands on his shoulder, startling him.

“Nishinoya?” He turns to see Takeda standing behind him, a bemused smile playing on his lips.

“Hey, Take-chan,” Nishinoya says, forcing out a laugh. “What’s up?” Takeda shrugs, heading to the grassy field outside the gym and motioning for Nishinoya to join him.

“Nothing. Just haven’t seen you in a while, that’s all,” Takeda says, situating himself on the grass before looking at him and grinning. “You’re never with Tanaka when he visits us at the gym.” Nishinoya blushes, looking anywhere but at him.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

“It’s fine. I get it,” Takeda says. “I just...you know. Want to know how you’re doing.” Nishinoya doesn’t respond for a while.

“You’re finishing up your Literature degree, right?” Takeda presses. Nishinoya shrugs.

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Nishinoya says. “If I fail my exams, I’d need to spend another year in classes, and I...I can’t do that.” He doesn’t look at Takeda, afraid that he’s going to find sympathy. “The worst part is, the results come out today and I don’t even care. The degree, college, every last thing I’ve been doing for the past four years...they mean nothing to me.” His eyes start to burn. He runs an arm across them, clearing his throat.

Both of them are still for a moment before Takeda puts an arm around Nishinoya’s shoulder and pulls him close. Nishinoya startles for a second, breath hitching, before he loosens in his hold.

The embrace only lasts a couple seconds, and Nishinoya finds himself stifling a protest when Takeda releases him and starts reciting a speech of encouragement overrun by metaphors, similes, and complicated syntactic structures.

“Thanks,” he says, straightening as Ukai butts his head out of the gym.

“Takeda, I need your help in here!” he says, running a hand through his hair before noticing Nishinoya. “Oh, hey. Nishinoya, mind subbing in for Yachi? She had to go to the bathroom and we need someone to keep score.” Nishinoya is about to protest, engineering a crude excuse about needing some air, but—hearing the shoes on the court, hearing the slam of the ball—he realizes that this moment isn’t really about him.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he says. The three of them return to the gym.

* * *

Morisuke discovers Nishinoya conversing among Daichi and Asahi, slinging an arm around his shoulder.

“Yuu!” he says. “So happy that you could come, man.” He blinks. “Oh, yeah. I just got your text. What did you need to tell me?” Nishinoya almost coughs up the piece of beef he’s eating.

“Oh! uh...” He notices that Daichi and Asahi are also staring at him. “It wasn’t important.” Morisuke is silent for a moment before he shrugs.

“Alright, if you’re sure. Well, I need to go soon. Got to organize my stuff and all that,” Morisuke says, looking into the distance as if he’s distracted. He returns his attention to Nishinoya, grinning. “It was really great to see you this past month. We should do this again.”

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says. “We should.” Morisuke embraces him in one fast, firm motion before releasing him and raising a hand to Daichi and Asahi.

“See you around, guys,” he says, before heading to where Shouyou and Ryuu are conversing. Nishinoya stares after him for a moment before Daichi interrupts him.

“You’re surprising me, Nishinoya,” Daichi says. “I was almost certain that you were going to confess to him before he left.”

“Confess to him about what?” Nishinoya challenges him, flushing.

Daichi blinks in confusion. “Don’t you have a crush on him?”

“No!” Nishinoya says, too loud to sound sincere. He bites his lip. “Well, I mean...I guess I thought so. But it ended up being...” he searches for the words, settling on Ryuu’s. “...different, I guess. I was wrong.” It’s cryptic, but they’re all so used to Nishinoya’s incomprehensibility at this point for it not to be strange.

Daichi doesn’t press the issue.

* * *

Nishinoya and Ryuu crash at Saeko’s place for the night. Ryuu and Saeko are conversing on the couch when Nishinoya says that he’s going out for a stroll, fending off their offers to accompany him.

The farther he gets from them, the stranger he feels: heavy, and tired, and old. He drags his leg behind him, eyes fixed on the moon.

Suddenly, his phone buzzes against his leg. He pulls it out, focusing on the shining name on the screen.

_Sato-Sensei._

He gulps, heart pounding. _His exams._ His finger hovers above the button.

The night is silent. The leaves are still. This is one of those rare moments that exists outside of time.

Leaning against a tree, Nishinoya presses the button. Immediately, Sato’s voice comes to life on the line.

"Nishinoya-kun? Are you there?” he asks. Nishinoya braces himself.

“Yes,” he says. “Hello, Sato-sensei. I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos or a comment (especially the latter!) if you enjoyed. I experience leg pain so this was cathartic for me to write. I hope it was similarly cathartic to read. Thank you :)


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